


On Your Mind

by Katrine



Series: No Substep here [6]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Dom/sub, Dream Sex, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Hypnotism, Kinda, LITERALLY, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Manipulation, Mind Sex, Mindfuck, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Oral addiction, Other, Service Submission, Superhero/Villain, Telepathy, Wet Dream, no Substep here, villain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 21:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katrine/pseuds/Katrine
Summary: Ortega gets peculiar dreams at night.





	On Your Mind

It comes to you in your dreams, at first. A swelling desire, a need for something you can’t quite explain. In the beginning, the dreams are like many you’ve had before. Wet dreams about a love lost, but now they’re here. Alive. Real. In your dreams, the vague impressions and visions fill you with a desire, a need to bury yourself between their thighs, feel the overwhelming taste of them on your tongue, their hands holding your hair in a firm grip. 

The need is undeniable, making you almost painfully aroused when you follow their orders, managing nothing but the occasional moan and begging them to let you service them. There’s a satisfaction in it, night after night dreaming of them, your cock always straining against fabric, the fact that you’re not allowed to touch yourself elevating the pressure in your cock. And when they come, thighs shaking as they buck into the pressure of your mouth, hand holding your hair painfully tight, the bliss is indescribable. It starts as a tingling, warm flood through your veins, muscles feeling weak as your eyes roll back into your head. Always mumbling shaky thank yous as you come untouched at their dream-self’s purred praise.

“Good boy, Ricardo.” 

It’s nearly embarrassing, how often you wake up with a wet spot on your sheets. More so at the start, but by now all the hazy memory of your nightly visions bring you is a vague sense of contentment, peace and arousal. Still, you always feel a curl of shame in your gut around them. Their memory, Sidestep's memory, deserved better than your drunken fantasies after Heartbreak, and they deserve better than this now. The dreams you started getting after you found them again are persistent, dreamily erotic things, taking root in your mind and distracting you. Whenever you meet, whenever they’re close, you feel a flash of heat in your gut. Remembering the words, the praise, how good it felt to sink down submissively on your knees for them. One day you zone out while you’re at a bar, nearly drooling by the time you come to your senses, pupils blown wide by lust. You’re brought out of it by a touch to your shoulder, jolting you out of your thoughts. They chuckle and smile at you, then drag you closer for a kiss. Cooing in your ear as their tongue ghosts over the shell of it.

“It’s alright. You’re doing so good, Ortega.”

That night, you go to bed, curtains leaving the room completely dark as usual. It’s been a long day, your body showing the signs of your occupation. Villains haven’t exactly become more merciful over the years. Add to that your excursions to meet with your old friend, taking them to bars and trying to reconnect. You desperately hope your aching muscles and bone-deep exhaustion will deter the dreams, stop your night-time fantasies from running amok, but you fear the opposite. That they will encourage them. As you slip into unconsciousness, breath getting deep and steady, you feel a comforting whisper in your mind reassuring you everything will be fine. Slipping into darkness feels, for once, easy.

When you dream, you’re already between Sidestep’s legs, your hands gripping their thighs as you moan into their crotch. Your mouth feels wet, face damp were you’ve had it buried between their legs. Their taste sends a shiver down your spine, both quenching and fuelling a hunger you didn’t know you had. It feels divine, a taste of godly nectar on your lips. You can’t stop yourself, needing to pleasure them more and more. It feels like your world has narrowed, comprising entirely of their hot sex. Your dick feels heavy, your need pressing as you moan wantonly. Their answering sounds of pleasure stick in your brain. You need to hear more of them. Give them more pleasure. The thought sends a jolt of heat into your crotch, your dick jumping as it strains in your pants. 

“Such an eager boy, aren’t you?” 

You start at the distorted, ghostly tone, the voice eerily familiar and pleasant. Too familiar. You know them. You know them intimately. The new villain of Los Diablos. The person who stole the name of Sidestep. Yet, you do not feel the expected flash of ice-cold anger that so commonly follows each mention of them. Rather, you feel your body heating up, your mouth watering with the taste of sex. You try to summon your righteous fury, your horror, your usual hate; But distracted as you are by the delight in front of you, world too hazy to think too much, their voice doesn’t deter you at all. A gloved hand rests on your head, a steady, reassuring weight. You feel their presence behind you, hear the tell-tale sound of creaking leather and armor moving as they pet your hair, slowly running their fingers through the messy curls. 

“Such a good boy,” they muse, their spectral voice sending pleasurable shivers down your spine. “But you could always do better, don’t you think?” 

They sink down behind you, removing their hand from your head, sliding it along your side. Then to your front, before palming your cock. You let out a desperate cry, hips bucking involuntarily at the pressure. It feels too good. You want more. 

“Use your tongue, yes, like so,” they purr into your ear, distorted voice dripping with honey. “That’s good. You’re doing so well.” Their hand slips into your pants, gloved hands pumping your dick without resistance as you do your best to please your dream-lover. Then, you hear their voice in your ear, the distorted quality seemingly gone. Their voice is a sensual whisper, dark with promise. Familiar. The sound of an old lover. “Beg, and I may let you come.”

When you wake up, you don’t remember whether or not you pleaded for release. All you know is that your sheets are stained, your cock twitching at the smallest reminder of your fantasy. 

Work becomes a bit more difficult, the mere mention of the villain plaguing your dreams or the sight of your old flame sending pleasant jolts to your crotch. You don’t get even a night of relief, the need to please them enough that it distracts you noticeably as you zone out for longer and longer amounts of time. You know Chen is worried, perhaps chalking it up to stress. You know better, though. In your dreams you’re always relaxed. Obedient. Easy. Carefree. States of being that are becoming more and more appealing. Still, you hold strong, hoping this is just a weird obsession your brain is having lately.

Then the dreams shift. Become undeniable.

This time the figure is eerily familiar, lounging on a throne. Their dark armor has a reflective facemask, mirroring the shifting colours of the dreamscape. Your body trembles, mind fighting to not crumple and give in to the wretched desires filling it. Then, they speak. 

“On all fours, boy. Kneel between my legs. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Their voice is a haunting distortion, discordant and melodious all at once. It comes from nowhere, it comes from everywhere. And it is deeply, horrifyingly, intoxicating. All-encompassing. Your dick hardens as you crumple to your knees, following the command with an urgent need you didn’t know you possessed. 

“Please,” you moan as you crawl, crossing the agonizing distance between you. Stopping between their legs, and in the shifting reality of your dreamscape, it doesn’t seem at all weird that their armor allows for you to open it, heat coursing through your blood as you worship their intimates. You revere them with your tongue, whimpering as your body responds to the act by heating up. It feels so pleasurable to be good. To serve. Their hand is in your hair, leather gloves keeping a tight grip. 

“Beg. Beg for release.”

You moan into their intimate parts, cock hardening as blood rushes to it. You pull back to draw a breath, preparing to speak, looking up at their helmet. 

Then you wake up.

The sheets are stained this time too.

\---

Life goes on. Work goes on as usual. You’re pursuing the villain, pursuing Sidestep, because the rangers always get their man and you’ll be damned if you stop now. Fighting them is difficult, their movements unpredictable and swift with the kind of technique that takes a lifetime of experience to perfect. Today is no different. You trade quips and banter as you try to keep up your confident front, but it’s clear they’re laughing at you. Amused by you. For a few gruelling moments, you wonder if they notice your occasional distraction as your mind suddenly hits you with memories of your dreams, of serving them in the most intimate way possible. You feel like there’s a clump in your stomach, tendrils of arousal curling around it. Shameful. Degrading. Deliciously pleasurable. 

Still, you manage to keep up, trading blow for blow, kick for kick, suggestive quip for suggestive quip. They trip you, but you right yourself before you make a more fatal mistake. Retaliate. They let out a delighted cry as your hit connects, electricity connecting with their armor. 

“Wonderful, Charge! You always have a hidden ace up your sleeve, don’t you?” they laugh as they skid back a few meters over the ruined concrete. They’re a destructive force, leaving irreparable damage wherever they go. Righting themselves up, they lean their head to the side, inscrutable helmet hiding their face as they give you a look. You slide easily into a ready position, aware that they may strike whenever they please. You don’t want to fall into their trap. “But,” they say, voice suddenly dark, “you could always do better, don’t you think?”

Your brain blanks out as your face flushes, your dick flooding with blood. The memories are too strong, the dreamy sensations of your mouth buried in warm heat too tempting. Intoxicating. Your legs are trembling as you stand frozen, unable to move as the villain walks closer. Each step echoes in your mind, the sound like a drowning salvation. Dimly, you realize you’re salivating, eyes fixed on their crotch. When they’re right in front of you, they raise a dark, gloved hand to your cheek, tipping it up as though checking an animal for purchase. They chuckle, the sound melodious and smug. You should move. You should do something. Anything. But you can’t. Slowly, and with a lingering caress, they retract their hand.

“On your knees, boy.”

There is no conscious thought in your immediate reaction as you fall down to your knees, just an overwhelming need to serve, to please, to be pleased. Your entire body is filled with a molten heat, a hunger to satisfy a deeply buried carnal pleasure. There’s a flash of shame in your gut, easily overpowered by the all-consuming pleasure. Placing a hand in your hair, they start to pet you gently, causing you to look up. You see yourself reflected in their helmet, pathetic on your knees. The sight makes your dick feel harder. They move a hand in front of your mouth, and you kiss it readily. Worshipping it. Being on your knees for your enemy, barely without a fight, feels so right. Too right.

“Look at you, being such a good boy. Getting on your knees for me, already hard and aching. Ready to serve me.” They move their hand, a finger running circles on your cheeks. “Do you want to come, pet?”

“Yes, Master, please,” your voice breaks, your entire being desperate for relief. They let out a delighted sound.

“You’re such a good boy. So polite!” they lean down a bit, speaking in a stage whisper. “ _Now cum_.” 

Your orgasm is immediate, mind blowing and euphoric, pleasure surging through your body as you come in your pants. Eyes rolling back in your head as your breath comes out as airy moans. They’re still petting you. 

“I’m lucky, aren’t I? Got such an eager pet. Why don’t you return the favor, darling?”

They pull down a zipper, guiding your head between their legs. You don’t protest. It feels too good to finally please Master. 

On your own accord. 

You’re sure they taste every bit as good as in your visions.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to my beta Luka, who you can find on tumblr @awkward-screeching ! Without them this fic would NOT have been possible. I love you so much boo <3  
> If you liked this fic feel free to leave me a kudos, or tell me your thoughts in a comment!  
> I'm always happy to hear from people and I accept ideas :D


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